


The Sound of Your Voice and the Ache in My Bones

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: It's Kinktober 2020, babes [21]
Category: Numb3rs (TV), Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Dirty Talk, Established Malcolm Bright/Ian Edgerton, Established Relationship, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Man, Phone Sex, Pre-Canon, jbbkinktober2020, light case details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: Malcolm has a difficult time getting to sleep after a case that edges a little too close to his own past.Ian calls and helps.---Day 21: Phone Sex
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Ian Edgerton
Series: It's Kinktober 2020, babes [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948045
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	The Sound of Your Voice and the Ache in My Bones

Malcolm sighs as he sits on the edge of the cheap hotel bed. He typically goes along with what the Bureau is willing to book for him, mostly because it’s so much easier to coordinate with his team if they’re all clustered around the same hall of rooms. He could pay for something better. Probably _should_ , or at least, pay more for a more secluded room. He knows the Bureau does their best to assign him a room between agents if not in the corner, because they don’t want to be fielding complaints about his tetchy sleep either. 

Screaming in the dead of night in a hotel tends to garner attention, after all. 

So he does his best to minimize it. He puts in his mouth guard. He hooks up his portable set of restraints, even though they’re not as good as the kind he has set up in his apartment in D.C. He wears his mind out on case details and then sits and meditates until he can clear as much of the gore out of it as possible. Then he sleeps. 

Or tries to. 

Tonight, he’ll be surprised if he gets any sleep at all. This case edged too close to his own memories, to the things he constantly thinks about, to all of the regrets he has. This case involved a killer who liked starving his victims in a box. His container of choice wasn’t a hefty old trunk like the one Malcolm dreams of. It wasn’t terribly thick or sturdy at all. It was just a plastic storage container of roughly the same proportions. By tying his victims up and drugging them with his own personal cocktail, he was able to keep them quiet and docile there until their bodies gave out. 

Finding his latest victim still alive in one of those containers _should_ have felt like a redemption. Instead, he feels hollow. 

Malcolm lays back on the lumpy mattress and stares at the ceiling, not bothering to remove the towel around his waist. He’s well aware that he’s making the bed damp. It probably won’t dry in time for him to comfortably sleep, but sleep won’t come tonight anyway, as he’s already determined. At least he was able to force himself to wash off the grime of the case. 

There’s a ringing sound.

Malcolm blinks.

It goes away.

He silently runs through his flight information. It’s the soonest one he and the team could get, and it’s in the early afternoon. They’ll probably head to the airport together after checkout. 

The ringing’s back. 

Throwing an arm across his face, Malcolm wills it to go away. 

It cuts off. Returns. 

With a frustrated growl, he rolls over and grabs his cell phone from the side table. “Bright.”

A beat. 

“Hello?” He’s so close to ending the call when another voice finally comes through.

“Can’t say I’m surprised you’re in a mood,” Ian says, soothing in that blunt way of his. For all that he’s a man without a home to call his own, he’s the steadiest, most reliable thing in Malcolm’s life right now. “I saw the files,” he adds. 

Malcolm can’t even say he’s surprised. “I solved it. A few hours ago.” I, not we, because it was _his_ break that got them there in time. The rest of his team is good. They just don’t particularly like listening to him, and that burns. They’re all lucky — himself included — that they did this time. 

“Six hours ago,” Ian says, and was it _really_ that long?

He must have been in the shower for quite a while. Malcolm bites his lip. He loves what he does. He really does. He just doesn’t always love what _it_ does to _him_. 

Ian, especially, seems to dislike that, despite being stuck in the same cycle himself. “Are you okay?”

Malcolm snorts. “I’ve been better.” He doesn’t question how Ian knows the specifics. This case blew up while he and the team were here, and there’s no doubt the sniper heard about it, put together the similarities with the little things Malcolm told him when the lights were out and their bodies were pressed together beneath the sheets. 

“You won’t sleep tonight.” Not a question or a guess. A fact. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” He won’t. Because he’s apparently not done dredging up feelings he doesn’t want to dwell on today, he clears his throat and admits what he’s feeling. “I wish you were here, Ian.”

“Me, too, Agent,” Ian murmurs, serious and soft in the way that tells Malcolm his lips have most definitely curled up into a satisfied smirk. “I’m sure I could wear you out enough to get a few hours.”

Malcolm sighs. That would be nice. Ian knows all of his buttons by now. He knows exactly how to bring him to the edge, to push him over such as to exhaust him how he needs when his mind is overloaded and overburdened like this. “I guess sleep will just have to wait until I get back.”

“No can do. I’m heading out an hour before your plane touches down.”

Of course he is. _Of course._ Malcolm closes his eyes and rubs at his temple. It’s his fault for falling into bed with one of the Bureau’s best assets, he supposes. “I’ll sleep better in my own apartment.” Which isn’t a lie. 

“Or,” Ian says, voice low, “I could help you wear yourself out tonight.”

Licking his lips, Malcolm considers it. They haven’t tried phone sex before. Fucking around on the Bureau’s time wasn’t something they could regulate, not really, but Malcolm and Ian were both too married to the job to consider taking time away from their work. They both usually made their way back to D.C. as soon as their cases were over, too. They’d fuck then, as soft or as hard as they needed to erase whatever they’d poured over for the preceeding days or weeks or months. 

But Malcolm doesn’t think he can wait until Ian gets back this time. 

“Malcolm?”

“Yeah,” he says, mouth suddenly dry. “Do it, Ian.” He can practically see the look that likely graces Ian’s face. 

“Good.” The singular word is smooth, low, _pleased_. “Are you still in your gear?”

Malcolm shakes his head before realizing he needs to speak. “No.” He clears his throat. “I showered. I’m just wearing a towel.”

Ian hums. “Open it up for me, Agent. Don’t get off the bed, that towel might come in handy later.”

Turning on speakerphone, Malcolm untucks the corner of the towel with hands that tremble not from the lust but from the remainder of the case floating through his mind. “Done.”

“Are you hard?”

He’s not quite there yet. Ian does a lot to him, but the _case_. “Almost.”

“Good,” Ian says again. “Don’t touch yourself yet. I want you to visualize what I’m doing. I’m on the couch in the front room.”

It’s easy to picture. Malcolm’s been there several times before, been fucked on that very couch. 

“I’m opening my pants.”

There’s no sound, not over the cell connection, but Malcolm knows he’s likely wearing something with a zipper. He bites his lip. 

Ian makes a throaty noise. “I’m twitching already. If you were here, I’d have you on your back.”

“We’d barely have time for lube,” Malcolm says, because they’ve done that before, too. He’s been reamed on that couch with barely any slick, just a stroke of wetness and the fervor building between them. 

“I know you like it like that, Agent.” Ian pauses and spits. “You can wrap a hand around yourself.” Like he’s obviously doing right now.

Malcolm licks a wet stripe across his palm and reaches down to find that he’s completely erect. He groans and shudders as the cool dampness of his hand touches the heated flesh. 

“Slowly,” Ian orders. 

“Yes, Sir,” Malcolm says. Promises, even as his cock jerks in his grip. 

“I can see you, lying out across the bed,” Ian continues, “towel underneath you. Next time we’re in the same city, I’m going to lay you out just like it. Mark you up.”

Malcolm’s eyes shut. _Yes_ , he wants that. 

“I’ll slick my cock up and fuck right into you.”

“Please.”

Ian chuckles. “You’d limp around for days.”

Malcolm knows what that feels like. He knows the wonderful ache, the looseness of his limbs. “Shit, Ian.”

“Cup your balls,” Ian orders. “I’m stroking myself faster, Agent. Twisting around the head the way you do, but it doesn’t feel the same.”

“My hand’s not as big as yours.” The angle isn’t the same, either. He enjoys it anyway, the warmth and weight against his sack. 

“As soon as my case is over, I’ll remind you what it feels like. Wrap a hand around yourself again.”

Malcolm licks his chapped lips and whines at the feeling. “I’m not going to last long.”

“You’ll come when I tell you,” Ian tells him flatly. He grunts, evidently speeding up his own efforts. 

Malcolm has to tighten the grip on himself to stave off his orgasm. “Please!”

“Ask one more time.” And Ian’s voice is tight, strained in the way that signals he’s close, too. 

Malcolm knows just what he needs. “Please let me come, Sir,” he breathes out, and, to his delight, hears a hefty groan through the speakers of his phone.

“Come,” Ian orders softly.

Stroking faster, Malcolm does just that, ropes of come striping his chest one after the other as his breath hitches. 

“Good,” Ian continues. “Go clean up for me. And, Malcolm?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Kinktober! I'm planning on doing every prompt, so look out for more!
> 
> Prompt list I'm using can be found here: https://jbbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/627189398153363456/kinktober-2020


End file.
